


Waterworks

by Anonymous



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tribadism, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8687755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Rodimus has a creative way to wake Drift up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Watersports ahead, beware!

Rodimus’ systems onlined slowly to the feeling of Drift’s deep, slow exvents against his neck. He wasn’t snoring, not quite, but there was a soft rattle in his fans that Rodimus couldn’t help but smile at. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up without Drift in his berth. It was one of the many benefits of the strange new direction their friendship had taken since the Lost Light had left Cybertron. Lazily, he rolled Drift over onto his back so he could stretch out his limbs.

When he moved, his waste tank sloshed around, reminding him that it needed emptying. He squirmed a little, not wanting to get out of the berth just yet.

If his tank was full, Drift’s probably was too. Neither of them had emptied their waste fluids last night before recharge. That gave Rodimus an idea.

He shimmied down the bed, coming to rest between Drift’s thighs. He knew from experience that he could get Drift’s panels open without waking him up; Drift was a heavy sleeper at the best of times. 

It only took a few moments of gentle licks and nuzzles for his valve panel to slide open. Drift’s venting remained slow and even up above. 

Rodimus took a moment to just appreciate the view. Drift’s valve was plump and soft, white folds lined with pulsing biolights. Rodimus had seen a lot of valves in his time, but Drift’s might be his favorite. Top 5, at least. 

Smiling, he leaned in and slid his tongue up the center of Drift’s array. He paused, but when Drift remained offline, he spread the folds of open and gave another lick. Drift’s vocalizer uttered a staticky, barely-audible sigh.

Rodimus smiled, turning his attention to Drift’s waste fluid outlet, a barely-visible opening just above his valve. Drift twitched slightly in his recharge as Rodimus licked across it. His own tank throbbed insistently, and he ground his hips down against the berth in hopes of relief. It worked a little; at least enough to override his system’s automatic release protocols.

Rodimus pressed the tip of his glossa into the tiny opening. If Drift had to void his tanks nearly as bad as Rodimus did, it wouldn’t take long for the wet heat of his mouth to have an effect. It only took a few more gentle probes before he tasted the first trickle of waste fluid, hot and sharp against his tongue.

He pulled back just in time to watch the trickle grow into a steady stream. Drift’s waste fluid spilled out of him, a sigh escaping his intake as he released. Streams of liquid ran down the folds of his valve, splashing his thighs, pooling under his aft. A puddle formed on the berth between his legs, spreading until it reached the edge of the slab and began to drip over the sides. Rodimus reached down to Drift’s array, letting the warm fluid spill over his fingers. He bit back a groan, the need to release mixing with the feeling of charge building behind his panel. He could hardly tell the two apart anymore. 

He was almost disappointed when Drift’s waste stream slowed and then ended. He could have watched Drift release for hours.

“Hmmm?”

Rodimus looked up to see Drift blinking down at him, only half-online.

“Morning,” he replied, grinning back up at him. 

Drift shifted, taking note of the puddle he was lying in. 

“Oh,” he said, surprised. The biolights on his array pulsed brighter as his processor caught up. “ _Oh_.” A grin formed on his face. “Thanks for that.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Rodimus replied. He crawled up the berth to kiss Drift, not caring when his knees landed in the puddle of Drift’s waste fluid. “It was a nice show.”

“Yeah?” Drift said, nipping at Rodimus’ bottom lip plate. “How about you give me one, then?” He reached down to press a hand against Rodimus’ abdominal plating, kneading at the spot where his waste tank was.

“Frag,” Rodimus gasped. “Drift, I have to go so bad.”

Drift smirked. “Well, don’t hold it on my account.”

Rodimus had an idea. He pulled away from Drift’s lips, despite Drift’s whimper, and knelt between his legs. He let his own panel pop open. Ignoring the lubricant that dripped down his thighs, he grabbed Drift’s hips and shifted them both until his waste outlet was pressed against Drift’s external node. 

“Mmmm, _Roddy_ -”

Before Drift could even finish moaning his name, Rodimus started to release. Drift groaned as the hot jet of fluid hit his node, his hips bucking us against Rodimus. Rodimus moaned in relief as his tank started to drain, resisting the urge to squeeze his optics shut in favor of watching his waste fluid pour over Drift’s array. His spike pressed urgently against its panel at the sight one kind of pressure traded for another. 

He wasn’t even finished releasing before Drift grabbed his arms and pulled him back up into another kiss. The rest of his waste fluid spilled over Drift’s abdominal plating, and he ground his valve down against the slick, wet metal.

“Frag,” Drift murmured against his lips. “That was so hot, Roddy.”

Rodimus could barely think straight, let alone put together a coherent sentence. He adjusted his hips so that his valve was flush with Drift’s and rocked their hips together. Both of their arrays were slick with lubricant and waste fluid, and they moaned into each other’s panting mouths. 

They fell into a frantic rhythm, valves and nodes sliding against one another’s. Drift’s fingers dug into Rodimus’ hip plating, pressing them as close together as possible. Their thighs splashed in the puddle of their mixed fluids with every thrust, charge crackling between their frames.

“Slagging _Primus_ , Drift,” Rodimus moaned, biting at Drift’s glossa. “Slag, slag, _slag_ -”

“Roddy, I’m gonna-”

“ _Frag!_ ”

Their overloads hit them at almost the same time. Rodimus buried his face in Drift’s neck cables as he came, spilling transfluid behind his still-unopened spike panel. His legs were shaking as he flopped down beside Drift. 

“Slag,” Drift said, vocalizer crackling with static. “Wouldn’t mind a wake-up like that every morning.”

Rodimus grinned, looking down at the mess they’d made of the berth. “Well, I’d definitely mind cleaning this up every morning.”

Drift groaned, but he was smiling. “Can we deal with that _after_ we head to the washracks?”

“Mhmm,” Rodimus agreed, snuggling closer to Drift. He ran his fingers through the traces of transfluid leaking out from behind Drift’s spike panel. It popped open, and Rodimus slid down the berth again, running his glossa over Drift’s sticky, depressurized spike. “But first, let me clean up _this_ mess.” 


End file.
